


Fucking Valentine's Day

by Gadhar



Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Be hard to top next year.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously written for Valentine's Day and yes, completely utterly late. You can tell how long I've been working on this.
> 
>  
> 
> Disc- I owns nothing

Barney snorts at the card on the table, it’s standing over what were probably intended to be heart-shaped cookies, that are burnt to a black crisp, and a box of store-bought chocolates that are already more than halfway gone. 

He bites into a chocolate—coconut of course, because Lee hates coconut—ignoring the cookies as a hopeless case-and the very definition of only the thought counting--and grabs the box. He strolls through the house, almost in a daze, stupid smile on his lips.

And it only gets worse—better—when he finds Lee already in bed, on his stomach, back glowing in the light of lit candles, blanket curved low on his hips, hardly hiding the swell of ass just a cut under. 

He’s spread eagle across the bed at an angle, arm hanging off the edge with his head nearly following and his slow deep breaths are calm and relaxed, smooth like the plane of skin Barney can see. Smooth like Lee’s face, free of cares and worries. 

Barney moves slowly, setting the chocolates on the corner of the bed and carefully lowering his weight onto the mattress. Lee shifts but otherwise does nothing and now Barney can see the white of earbuds and their wire, disappearing in the curve of Lee’s neck and following his arm off the bed. Dozing with music in is something he’s noticed Lee does quite a bit, kept from the hold of deep sleep but still restful.

Barney smiles at the warmth in his chest, the soft rounded warmth that’s growing into a slow burn and has him moving to lean over Lee. Times like these he wonders how he got so lucky.

Barney brushes his nose across the back off Lee’s neck, following with his lips as his hand smooths down the length of Lee’s arm. And Lee’s body reacts, shoulders rising into Barney’s lips, arms curling in. He kisses Lee’s neck, and then again and slowly moves around the side watching the slow grin spread across Lee’s face as he wakes.

Lee yawns and stretches, whole body moving up with a breath and skimming Barney’s—the barest glance of glowing heat, skin-on-skin. “You’re home.”

The voice is a soft, smooth rumble, languid lips against his when they kiss, hand uncurling Lee’s fingers from his music player. Then it’s a gentle tug and drop, the player on the floor as Barney moves back, lips ghosting over Lee’s ear with a breath tingling over sensitive skin.

“Yeah, saw the gifts by the way.”

Lee’s smile softens, body turning and brushing Barney, warmth chasing the chill. They’re face-to-face and Barney rests more of his weight on Lee, chests pressing together and breathing together. 

“Still not sick of me, huh?” He asks, quoting the card as he leans their foreheads together, noses brushing. His hand finds Lee’s hip, stroking with a thumb.

“Never.” Lee tilts his head, pushes up for a kiss and Barney groans, the feeling of Lee’s tongue sliding along his and curling making him shiver. 

Barney pulls back a little, just enough to reach his arm towards the chocolates and bring them over, holding one above Lee’s eyes. “You’re always leaving me the coconut ones.”

“Because you like them.”

“I eat them because you don’t. I actually kinda hate them.”

Lee snorts and rolls over more, legs working around until they bracket Barney’s, and there’s still jeans and a blanket between them but Barney thinks he can already feel the heat rising off Lee’s skin, heat seeking heat. “There’s a caramel in there somewhere. I see you didn’t bring the cookies.”

“I see you didn’t burn down the house baking them.”

Lee’s smile changes, that same teasing glint in his eyes as in his voice, the barest gruff of faux irritation under it all. “I am not _that_ bad in the kitchen. And I’m pretty sure I hit all points on the perfectly cheesy holiday. Baking was part of that.”

“You did indeed hit all points. Well, except one.”

“We’re getting to that.” 

 

Lee drops his voice to that huskiness he knows makes Barney groan and he watches as Barney closes his eyes, a slight quiver traveling down from his chest to his arms. It’s a pity Barney’s still fully clothed. 

Lee smoothes a hand around Barney’s neck, pulls him down for another kiss and works his other hand down Barney’s side—hand against his chest, thumb catching on his shirt, running along the curve of a pectoral, then fingers splaying against his side and moving down, catching the hem off cotton and sliding under. His other hand follows the same path until he’s trying to get the whole shirt off.

And that’s when Barney moves, gets a hand between them and gropes, making Lee jerk up and into Barney, frozen, breath caught in his throat even as Barney pulls away completely, warmth and tingling skin going with him. 

Lee stretches out, kicking the covers away as he watches Barney in the flickering light. All solid muscle and tan skin. Skin he knows better than his own. Rough and smooth in different places, a whole different power than Lee’s own working in those muscles, stretching those shoulders as Barney takes off his shirt.

“You’re staring,” Barney murmurs and he’s already back on the bed, climbing over Lee, finally bare skin, shifting along bare skin. And Barney stops, poised over him, hands holding his weight on either side of Lee’s head.

Lee traces the swirls of color on Barney’s shoulders, edging along the lines and curves of tattoos that hold stories he may never know and somehow doesn’t need to. “Of course I am.” 

Barney shakes his head, that same fond exasperation in the move that he always has when it comes to Lee and the things he says that Barney never believes. 

"How's it go?" He asks himself aloud, lips curling at the look Barney gives him, like he's crazy. Maybe he is. But it's a good crazy. "Beauty isn't a pretty face. It's a pretty mind, a pretty heart, and, above all, a pretty soul?"

"I'm not the poet here," Barney answers and kisses him again, puts a hand on Lee’s chest and just holds. "'I'm also pretty sure you just said I was ugly."

Lee laughs, arms wrapping around Barney’s neck and pulling him all the way, so he can feel that weight on him, the heat. "The ugliest. Such a brute. You've got no finesse."

"A brute? Heh. You keep being mean I might just have to prove you right."

"Oh yeah?" Lee can feel Barney mouthing at his neck, wet warmth with a lot of tongue and skimmed with teeth, the chill of soft breath rolling across skin and his fingers flex on Barney's shoulders. The last time they bothered to go anything near this slow had been...well, long enough that Lee loses count of the weeks when the memories of far more rough, frantic sexcapades rear their heads—teeth tearing at his lip in Barney’s truck, bruising hands on his hips in the cockpit, cocks sliding against one another in the back of Tool's place—it's almost too long ago.

"Yeah, maybe fuck you raw instead of slow."

Lee jerks, nails digging into Barney's back when Barney's mouth locks around a nipple, the remnants of his growl still rolling through Lee's chest, his words in Lee's mind. 

"Why not both?" His voice is already breathy, rough and edged in a way that is driving Barney crazy if the look in the eyes that glance up at him is anything to go by. Lee had already been wound tight earlier, waiting for Barney. He hadn't done anything but Christ it had been hard not to. And now the tension was building, stretching and wrapping his whole body in heat.

Barney pulls away from him enough to give Lee a look, shoulders heaving with a heavy breath. "You're assuming you're going to have the stamina to even last another round after I finish _one_ of those things."

Lee rolls his eyes, "I was thinking more at the same time. Unless that's too much of a challenge for you, old man."

"Oh," Barney says, taking one of Lee's hands from around his neck and kissing the palm, before bringing it down, still keeping his own hand wrapped around Lee's. "Now that's just harsh." 

And before Lee can respond Barney's got Lee's hand wrapped around Lee's own cock, Barney's hand over top of it, and he's fucking stroking like he has all the time in the world cheeky grin on his face. 

 

 

And Barney fucking loves it too. Loves the way he can take away Lee's words with a simple move, though he'll admit everybody probably gets a little tight lipped with a hand on their cock, let alone two. But Lee doesn't get like this with anyone else. Doesn't let anyone shut him up, doesn't give in to anyone, and yet here he is, underneath Barney, letting Barney control his own fucking hand on his own fucking cock. Letting Barney watch him let go. "Beautiful," He murmurs, diving in to suck down Lee's guttural groan, hand stuttering to a stop. 

He works his way down Lee again, from lips on lips to lips on jaw, on neck, on chest; right on down until he's kissing the insides of thighs with Lee's fingers edging into his hair, twisting into the strands and gripping hard when he finally does wrap his lips around Lee's length. 

Then there’s the brief stillness, the height of an intake of breath before Lee lets out a low groan, body relaxing as his eyes close. From there Barney doesn’t have to think. He knows—just like he knows how to breathe, and eat, and speak—what to do to Lee, to get him to unravel, strand by strand, each hitch of breath and barely audible noise the mark of the furthering slip from reality, every swirl and flick of his tongue, a drive towards the darkness of pleasure that is purely warmth and comfort and nothing more than Barney drinking in all there is to Lee. 

And he’s moving faster, breath harsher as he tries not to go too far. To hold himself back. Part of him wants to take Lee apart the whole way, right here, right now, push him to the brink a thousand times just to take him back only to shove him off unexpectedly so he can take Lee for everything he’s worth, have Lee a mewling mess who can’t even remember his own name much less any of the worries of his life. He wants Lee’s face to be open and relaxed, that point of euphoria where the thoughts are as foreign as everything else but feeling and just existing.

But he can do that later. Can have Lee rolling in these sheets, tangled and trapped at his mercy. Later. Right now he fully intends to do what he promised. Slow and raw. 

 

 

The moment Barney’s mouth disappears, Lee can feel it. He can’t really say or do anything about it but he can feel it and it takes him far too long to get his brain back online. But when he does, he’s still got that heat burning just an inch under his skin, and he’s got Barney stoking that fire with each brush of lips on his skin, each stroke of hand and it’s blasted fucking annoying how often he lets Barney get one up on him. Take him apart like one of his damn motorcycles and put him back together but not before cataloging everything that makes him tick. 

Lee fucking loves it yes, loves the feeling in itself and the feeling it gives Barney, loves seeing that joy and intense concentration, but sometimes he just wants to turn it back on Barney, be given the chance to show the old biker just how beautiful he really fucking is when he’s the way he is with Lee—soft and real with tattered edges and a quiet strength and none of that stupid bravado to shell away in. 

“You’re such a fucking cheat you know that?” And he makes a point to keep his voice steady and strong, he’s not fooling anyone, but he knows Barney well enough to know it will prick somewhere at his ego—that Lee can regain his composure so easy even after being taken apart like that. 

“How so?”

And the question’s innocent, all eyes and pouting, and Lee’s hand curls to fit Barney’s jaw pulling him back up to where Lee can kiss him. “Trying to set me off before we even really start.” 

Lee rolls then, forces the breath from Barney’s lungs as he rolls on top, hand already coasting down planes of rough skin with ease to wrap a hand around Barney and start jerking him off—fast and quick with none of the bullshit because he knows exactly how to fuck with Barney’s head. Lee will let Barney slowly guide him to the edge, but he’ll drag Barney there himself, drag him up in a rush of feeling and emotion and that too much burn before slowly letting him fall back. That’s when he’ll start kissing. Nipping along a jawline and nuzzling the lines of a mustache he’s missed. And he’s grinding up and against, moving with his hand, skin sliding against Barney’s and there’s just that thin sheet of sweat to keep it smooth. And when the tremors start, when he’s dragged Barney back to that edge again with blinding quickness he shoves him back again, smiles at the way Barney’s breath hitches and speeds up and slows, tries to keep with the pace as he arches off the bed and into Lee’s hand, muscles straining, jaw clenched and neck hot with the rush of blood under Lee’s lips.

The tattoos that trim Barney’s shoulders are always vibrant then, blazing with the red-blushed skin underneath and Lee’s always had a thing for them—something about the way the colors blend together, the way they shift and flex when Barney moves—and Lee traces them out with his lips and tongue, knowing he can bring Barney off this way, if he wanted. But he doesn’t, not quite yet, so he slowly pulls his hand off, sliding it up over a sweat covered chest until his fingers can trace the tattoos on Barney’s other shoulder. 

They never really stop moving, even now as he mouths at Barney’s skin at an almost leisurely pace, Barney’s still rolling up into him, still brushing skin against skin, even as his breathing evens out and he’s coming back off the high of adrenaline. Lee can feel the lips near his ear curling into a smile and they just lay there waiting, fingers pressing against warm skin, lips trailing after each other. 

And then Barney rolls them again and Lee huffs a laugh, reaching up just as Barney’s lips come down to meet his and he can feel Barney’s hands rough and warm, sliding over his hips the blunt tip of his cock hot against Lee’s ass and his gut clenches in anticipation. 

 

 

It’s a slow burn that nearly drives Barney off the edge right then, the kind of burn that he knows is just as hot for Lee if not more and the way the Brit breathes in, high pitched with just the dullest edge of pain, tells him Lee’s pretty damn close to. And those eyes go wide on him, bright and soft and Lee’s legs are tightening around Barney’s hips, hands squeezing at Barney’s shoulder as his whole body shudders.

And Lee doesn’t let go, keeping that bruising hold as Barney stills and waits. Waits for Lee’s shaky breaths to soften in their harshness, waits for his own breathing to settle down and when Lee closes his eyes, face so goddamned relaxed he looks a good ten years younger, Barney leans down and kisses him—all lips and tongue and heat and his hips are moving, slow and steady and he can feel the pull of skin against skin that makes him groan into Lee’s mouth and that has Lee arching up and into him, chest slick with sweat against his and Barney pulls out again, pushing in just as slow and as deep and savoring every little noise Lee makes. 

They’re noises that go straight to his balls and as he thrusts slow, making sure he catalogs every change in Lee’s face—the way his eyes shine, the way the intense red of Lee’s blushed and heated skin burns against his own skin, the way the minute shakes of Barney’s chest, the barest hint of shivers seem to shake their way down to Barney’s core—because these are the faces he wants to remember. Lee’s. Not that of ghosts or old demons. He wants to remember Lee smiling and laughing. He wants to memorize the way Lee’s eyes tighten when he’s in pain, how his jaw clenches in anger. He wants to remember those eyes shining with happiness as he rants about whatever it is that’s irking him and Barney wants to remember this. Wants to remember that open face, those shaky breaths, those glittering eyes that are wide and trusting and he wants to remember that this is Lee and this is what he can do to him. This is how much he break Lee down until all that’s in his mind is pleas for more and all that he feels is the buzz of pleasure that’s almost too intense. 

He wants to remember these faces because these are the things he lives for and he tells Lee as much. Tells him how fucking beautiful he looks, damn gorgeous, how open and relaxed and just... _amazing._ Barney grunts and pants the words into Lee’s neck and against his lips and he feels his heart swell in time with his cock the closer he gets and the more Lee loses it, so fucking lost—lost in this and him and Barney speeds up, drives deep and hard until Lee’s grunting and groaning and there’s the slap of his hips on Lee’s ass and his hands stroke Lee’s legs. Feels the power there and the smoothness of skin with the tight coils of muscle underneath and then Lee’s mouth is by his ear, whimpering and begging and it’s all nonsense expect for a few words of ‘please’ and Barney’s own name but it’s enough to have him closing his eyes, breathing hard and crying out as Lee digs his fingernails in, riding out Barney’s orgasm before coming himself and his voice is loud in Barney’s head, breaking through the white noise and with all the pleasure there’s the wash of rightness that settles over him.

The kind of right that tells him he’s okay and Lee’s okay and this is exactly where he’s supposed to be holding himself over Lee as the burn flames out a little, embers filtering the way through the kisses Lee presses into his neck, mutters of ‘love you’ following their trail. 

“Love you to.” And he tilts his head until he catches Lee’s lips because there’s so much that he needs to say but doesn’t have to word for and kissing is the only way he knows how to get his point across. Across to where Lee’s melting beneath him, muscles uncoiling, slick wetness between them and Barney twists to fall on his side, wrapping himself around Lee.

 

 

Lee lets out a breath, shifting one of the blankets around to clean both him and Barney up before letting it fall to the floor and letting himself fall back into Barney’s arms; strong around him, warm, safe. “Fucking Valentine’s Day.”

Barney snorts, the air breezing over Lee’s skull followed by soft lips and a hand drags up his side. “Be hard to top next year.”


End file.
